Anybody But Him by Claire Baxter Page B

smile broadened. She forced herself not to react. There was no need to let him know that she’d been affected by the sight of him, and give him yet another reason to mock her. It wasn’t as if she was going to let it happen again. No way. She’d be on her guard in future against stray bits of skin. Or anything else.
    â€˜Well,’ he said, his eyes glinting.
    â€˜Well, what?’
    He hesitated, then said, ‘Do you have something to sweep up this glass with?’
    â€˜There’s a dustpan and brush under the sink.’
    He bent down to open the cupboard.
    He was so annoying. She tried to keep quiet, but she couldn’t help herself. She blurted, ‘You can’t say “ well ”, and not explain yourself.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    Before she could respond–not that she could think of a suitable answer– Dammit trotted up to the door. She pointed. ‘I don’t want that dog in here.’
    â€˜Una doesn’t mind him in the house.’
    â€˜Doesn’t she? Huh. Well, I’m living here now, and I don’t want dog hair everywhere.’
    â€˜He’s only little. He doesn’t make much of a mess.’
    â€˜That’s got nothing to do with it. I don’t like dogs.’
    He muttered something that sounded derisive. Whatever it was, she chose to ignore it in an effort to show that she was better than him.
    It seemed Dammit didn’t want to come in anyway. He trotted back down the steps and meandered off, following a scent trail along the garden path, oblivious to her words.
    â€˜You don’t know what you’re missing, you know. Dogs are great companions.’
    â€˜That’s okay with me. I’d rather not know, thank you very much.’
    â€˜Better than women.’ After depositing the broken glass in her bin, he crossed the kitchen to pick up a piece of board he’d left leaning against the pantry door.
    â€˜What do you mean by that?’
    â€˜Dammit is much easier to live with than a woman.’
    â€˜I really don’t want to hear about your domestic arrangements,’ she said as she grabbed the kettle and stuck it under the tap.
    While he waited for her to move out of the way, he said, ‘For a start, he doesn’t correct my stories. I can big-note myself as much as I like and he doesn’t contradict me. And I can tell him my secrets, safe in the knowledge that he won’t blab them over coffee and cake.’
    Cake. Nicola opened the fridge in the hope of finding something to have for breakfast. She found some low-fat margarine but nothing to spread it on.
    â€˜He doesn’t criticise my friends,’ Blair went on, picking up a measuring tape and extending it. ‘Plus, he never complains about my taste in television.’
    She’d have to go to the shops before she did anything else. Actually, she’d have to find somewhere to eat before she went shopping or she’d buy up the whole place. God, she was starving.
    Blair used a pencil to mark a measurement on the board. ‘He shares my interest in the garden, and– now this is a biggie –he never asks me to talk about my feelings.’
    The kettle was near boiling so she closed the fridge and got some mugs out. ‘Tea or coffee?’
    â€˜Tea, please. He doesn’t play games. Well …’ He stuck the pencil behind his ear. ‘That’s not strictly true. He does play fetch, but not behind my back.’
    â€˜Sugar? Milk?’ She dangled a teabag in one mug while she poured in boiling water. ‘Personally, I think living with a dog would be very much like living with a man.’
    â€˜Just milk, thanks. How so?’
    After tossing the teabag in the bin and adding milk to his mug she said, ‘Well, neither of them would notice if I had my hair cut, neither of them would understand the word no , neither of them would want to do anything with me unless there was something in it for